Bloodstream
by Ayno23
Summary: No actual blood. Title because of Ed Sheeran's song 'bloodstream' which inspired me. Johnlock. Drabbleish. Oneshot. Set after TGG. John confronts Sherlock because he's been acting stranger than normal, even for detective standards.


They lived together for a couple of months now. The first few weeks had been a bit awkward since both of them didn't knew a thing about the other - well, at least for one them it applied. The other knew everything. Everything there was to know by just a glance. Usually. But it turned out to not being quite true because in one or the other way he, the detective, had been surprised. Again and again by an simple army doctor with a limp and a scar on his shoulder. Whether it had been something the doctor said or did or rather didn't do didn't matter to the detective. He expected something and more often than he'd liked to admit, he had been surprised. And this, this was unsettling. Something the detective had never experienced in his live before.

The doctor got used to his new flatmate quite quickly, considering the fact that he was the most extraordinary flatmate he ever had. He was playing his violin in the middle of the night, sometimes he laid on the couch for a whole day without speaking or even moving. Only the doctors skilled eyes had seen the soft up and down of the detective's chest and prevented precipitous acting on the doctors side with possible embarrassing questions to follow. And there were the experiments. A former kitchen table stuffed with petri dishes and who knows what kind of chemicals and -worst of it- different body parts. On good days it were toes and fingers. On bad days the doctor came home to a torso on the table with a head on top of it like a weird kind of crown. But all of this were worth it because his flatmate was also the most voice nating, mesmerising and engaging man he'd ever met. He worked with -not for- the police occasionally and the doctor had quickly started to accompany him. It was always fascinating to see this genius at work. Sure, with genius comes madness and so the doctor discovered that, while on a case, the detective did not sleep nor eat as it slows him down how he'd said with an annoyed voice when asked.

So their live together became more and more routine and both men got used to the other. Separate of each other they found it rather nice to have a flatmate and although there had been some fights about this and that, they enjoyed the others company. And without talking about it they became friends. One of them felt this way for some time now, the other was completely oblivious to these things, which didn't mean that the didn't felt the same. He just dealt with it in other ways than most people. Although stuffing feelings away and shoving them in the most distant corner of one's mind could hardly be called "dealing".

And this is where everything started. The beginning of the rest of their lives. Because this is the thing with feelings. You can ignore them only for so long and you can try to run from them as long as you can. But in the end it's the same. They catch up as soon as you slow down and they seemed to have gained strength but you are just tired from running. And they stay until you dealt with them, decided what to make of them. Running away round two or accepting them? And if you are not an idiot, you accept them from the start because running away only buys wasted time.

But Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective, was definitely and undeniable an idiot when it came to feelings, sentiment and human nature.

"What is it, Sherlock? Why are you staring..again?", John demanded with a curious expression on his face. He wasn't annoyed or unnerved, he had gotten used to the sometimes strange behaviour of his flatmate, colleague, friend. He was just curious since it happened a lot lately. John had been sitting in his chair, reading the newspaper while Sherlock had lain on the couch in his usual thinking position, his hands steepled under his chin, staring to the ceiling. John had known that Sherlock was in his mind palace and hadn't bothered to speak to him as he had comedy home from work. He had made himself a cuppa and settled to read the newspaper. After some time his skin began to tickle and itch. He knew Sherlock was staring at him, he knew that feeling and hadn't to take a look to confirm that he was being observed. This was one of the things he had soon gotten used to because Sherlock was more frequently staring at him. At first he had turned away whenever John inquired, but eversince their case with Moriarty he had stopped. Now John turned his head to look at him and their eyes met. John searched his eyes and face for something to explain his behaviour but only to find what looked like annoyance or boredom with a hint of confusion if John were to ask.

"Sherlock..? What is it?", John tried again softly.

Their eyes met again and suddenly Sherlocks expression changed. His eyes widened slightly and his annoyance, boredom and confusion were gone, now all there was was sparkling realisation.

"Sher..?" "Nothing John. Everything's.. fine."

He turned away, still looking like he solved the greatest puzzle of all.

It was John's turn now to be confused. For a moment he let his eyes linger on the back of his flatmate but eventually he shrugged and turned back to his paper.

Somehow there had been a shift in their relationship since the case with Moriarty. John had felt it from the moment at the pool. He loved Sherlock. It was simple as that and as complicated as that at the same time. He knew there was no denying it. And to be honest, he didn't want to deny it. Sherlock had mocked him once or twice about giving his heart away to easily and Mycroft had pointed out that he was very quickly very loyal. But that was the way he was. If John did something, he did it was all his heart. True, he hadn't considered himself as gay but the longer he lived with Sherlock, the more it seemed to change. At least as long it was about Sherlock. John still had no interest in men in general but neither in woman anymore. All he could see was Sherlock. More than once John had wondered how it was possible for one man to push all of his buttons as Sherlock did. In retroperspective, he had been consumed by the character of Sherlock right from the start. That was the simple part of being in love with Sherlock.

The difficult part was the knowledge that his feeling weren't reciprocated. The detective had stated that he was "married to his work" and that relationships weren't his terrain. And although John noticed a small change in Sherlock's behaviour, he didn't dare to hope for anything more than friendship. He assumed that Sherlock's staring and all the simple touches, which increased drastically after Moriarty from zero to here and there, were nothing more than Sherlock's way of appreciating their friendship. But John would always rather live with this than without Sherlock. He couldn't imagine how his life had ended if he hadn't met the detective. And it would have ended by now, he was certain of that.

Sherlock lay on his side face to the back of the couch and this Position provided safety for him. The small space in front of his face was reassuring and comforting. And that was what he needed now. He had contemplated this problem for a while now and he needed to tell himself his motto again and again. If everything impossible is removed, the remains, how unlikely they may be, are the truth. And considering this, there was only one explanation. He was in love with John. He way simple touches calm him, the way his heart skips a beat when John looks at him, the way his heart rate speeds up when John smiles. There were hundreds of symptoms and Sherlock had thought of them all and every possible cause and cure for them. But it was no helping it. He loved John. And that was the reason he needed comfort even if it was only provided by a couch and not by the person he wishes for. He couldn't allow it. John had stated that he wasn't gay on different occasions with different tempers but nevertheless 46 times since they became flatmates. Up until now his body had always followed his demands. But this, this was different. His transport did these things on his own and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop his heart from racing, the feeling of butterflies in his stomach or his sweaty palms. He only thing he was able to control was suppressing this stupid grin which threatened to form on his lips whenever John praised him. But his task alone was hard. Moreover, his brain and mind palace seemed to have developed a living of their own. Whenever he wandered through his palace, images of John appeared out of no where. Just as if John had invaded his mind. And Sherlock had always build the walls back up only to find them torn down minutes later. And it was exhausting. Even when he wasn't in his mind palace but at a crime scene, Sherlock's brain seemed to be trained on John. He always, always knew the way John was standing, where he was looking and every time John spoke, even if it was to Donovan or someone equally as unimportant, he heard him. As if his ear's had been waiting for him to start.

Granted, Sherlock had never been in love before but as he had been a teenager, he had read about love and the signs of it. Even if there had been one or two candidates for Sherlock's love, the constant warnings of his brother had done the trick and prevented whatever could have happened. But now, it was different. This feeling was so omnipresent in his mind and his body's reactions to John were a constant reminder as well, so Sherlock should have had no choice but to give in to his feelings.

But he was an idiot.

Some weeks after the scene in their living room, Sherlock was on edge. He barely could bear the feelings anymore who, surprisingly enough for him, hadn't disappeared. In his normal state of mind he could be unnerving and insufferable. But with his suppressed feelings and his denial of them it was a whole new level of changing moods. John had observed Sherlock's change from a safe distance but even he himself felt affected through his friends behaviour. And he couldn't stand it anymore. So he took himself a heart and decided to talk with Sherlock about all this on the next possible occasion.

The next possible occasion was an evening two nights later. Sherlock had just solved a case (not more than a five) and was still in a good mood. He had even agreed to eat something without John to threaten him. It was cold outside and a storm was forming over London.

John sighed silently preparing himself for what he was going to do.

Sherlock was standing at the window, looking outside. He always did when there wasn't a case and a storm was forming. His hands behind his back he stood there silently, not moving.

"Sherlock?" Listen, um, we need to talk," John's voice was soft but firm at the same moment. Maybe all doctors had to learn this voice.

"Sure, John. What topic do you like best? Process of moulding fruits? The behaviour of swallows when the weather changes? Or maybe the way the human brain is able to trick himself?" Sherlock did not turn around. He said it in a rather bored voice, indicating his unwill to talk about any of this.

Another change of his mood, John thought bitterly. He had hoped the high from a case would last longer.

"No. We need to talk about you and your moods. What is it, Sherlock? I can't stand it anymore! For the last weeks you changed your moods more often than.. I don't even know a comparison! What is bothering you, Sherlock?" John hadn't planned on becoming angry. But this Situation was frustrating.

Still, Sherlock didn't turn around, he only stiffened for a second before his shoulders relaxed again.

"So, you are planning to leave, then? If you can't stand it anymore that's probably the easiest way, don't you think?"

John didn't know what was more alarming. The way Sherlock's voice sounded, calm and barely interested, or the thought of him actually leaving.

"What? What are you talking about? I'm not planning on leaving. Bloody hell, Sherlock, look at me. And listen to me, you stupid git. I'm not going to leave unless you tell me to. I just want to help you. You are.. my friend and I don't want you to suffer," he said with a firm voice which actually caused Sherlock to turn around. John's heart was racing. He hadn't intended to say these things but once more Sherlock proved that he was the one who could push all his buttons.

Sherlock simply stared at John who held his gaze as if to prove his point. If he looked away now, he would feel like he would lose to Sherlock. The two man stood there, just staring at each other. The air between them changed and became electric and even if one of them wanted to, they couldn't look away. John had goosebumps on his arms and he still stood in the middle of the room, staring at his flatmate.

Said flatmate looked curious and somehow expectant as if he saw John for the first time in his life. He contemplated what to do now. He couldn't stare at him forever. All heart was racing, pumping dopamine, oxytocin and cortisol through his bloodstream. He knew by heart the reactions but he experienced them the first time on his own. He felt them kick in and was overwhelmed. All his mind was screaming to cross the line and he found himself unable to remain still, he had to give in to his desire.

In two long strides he crossed the room over to John and before he could react, Sherlock had cupped his cheeks with both his hands on either side of his head and bowed slightly to kiss John, his head tilted. The kiss was tender but firm, lips on lips and all too soon it was over. John was frozen, eyes open, pupils wide. His arms dangling useless at his sides while Sherlock's still held his face. He hadn't expected it, of course not. As Sherlock broke the kiss and opened his eyes he found John's eyes. These eyes looking at him with such passion, pupils wide as well, send a shiver down his spine. John woke from his shock and became aware of the eyes looking at him. With a fluttering heart he blinked one, two, three times and before he could think of anything else, he raised his arms and it was on him to cup Sherlock's face. With a gentle grip he pulled Sherlock back down and kissed him. As lips met lips again, they closed their eyes, relying on the sensation of the kiss alone. It was gentle and ever so sweet. They broke apart once more but kept their heads only inches from each other, panting but grinning stupidly as if they couldn't believe it.

No need for words. Their eyes gave it all away.

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Thanks for reading! I'd love to know your opinion on it.

P.S. It is unbeta'd, so please tell me if there are mistakes. And there will be. English isn't my native tongue and I wrote it completely on my smartphone.


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